Indila – « Dernière danse »

The weather has turned twice this morning.

I was up early ( for me) and took the Welsh to the beach for a long walk along the Prom.

We shared a cheese Flatbread on the way home and I treated myself to a large white coffee, which I’m still sipping , even if it is cold .

It was windy but not cold on the beach but now it’s started to rain and I’ve been in the garden cutting roses and am chilled and damp.

I’ve filled in the gaps with honeysuckle 

By 1pm I was hungry, after all the Welsh Had eaten most of my breakfast. 

The treat today was fish and chips, and when cooked by an experienced chippie , is a meal worthy of any Michelin star chef.

Bloody lovely

Pitstop

I never share full films here. The opportunity seldom arises, but this little gem of a gay film , was something I saw in Theatre Clwyd perhaps ten years ago now, and it’s messages of hope still stays with me to this day. 

It’s called Pitstop by Yen Tan

It’s PRIDE month this month and Bwthyn Y Llan still waves it’s rainbow heart from the window and the Queen’s Head from my spare bedroom. 

I’m very proud to be one of the few gays here in the village 

Friday

 It’s Friday already. 

And what fun, I’m not working the weekend because I’ve taken annual leave this week and last. 

This means instead of four full days taken with college, counselling, and work, I’ve only had to deal with my counselling day which is going ok at the moment. 

I enter the day leisurely and think of what I’m going to do only after preparing breakfast which gives the day its pace. Luckily the Welsh are even more laid back and refuse to even get up for a wee early.

It’s like living with teenagers.

I’ve made avocado toast and strong coffee and read the blogs and the tiktoks. I’m down to a dozen all told, and prefer the newsy chatty  over the ones who badmouth others whilst showing off their mental dexterity.

The internet is a sad Aladdin’s cave for the angry and the mentally ill I’m afraid.

I’m off to the cinema to see a western but I forgot it’s the Duke Of Westminster’s wedding today and Chester will be gridlocked

Anyhow I cancelled my ticket and went to the cineworld in Broughton to see The Dead Don’t Hurt.

A glum western with a French/Canadian heroine in the shape of the talented Vicky Krieps 

I loved the way as a dirt poor she always looked dressed by a Paris fashion house

Pondwork

 

The village pond is looking lush and very clean, but weeds needed clearing and marshalled by village leader Helen some dozen or so volunteers lent a hand at six pm to do the work

Great to catch up with everyone 

Home

 I took the Welsh out for a walk around 9 pm 

It was dusk and the bats started to race their way in zigzags down the lane 

I was reminded of nights past when I had lots of animals to care for 

And I mourned those days just a little tonight 

This blog entry was written 14 years ago

“

........It is 8.30 and the evening remains warm, dry and quiet. I am sat under the elm which borders the Churchyard and from this advantage point I can see every corner of the field. No sightings of Mr Fox as yet!

George is sat quietly in Maddie's old spot at my feet and the Welsh terriers are tied up next to the water butts and look asleep in the evening sun. Everything seems calm and serene.

The pace of the animals is slowing down in preparation for the night. The four female turkeys have separated from their daytime meet up and in two groups of two are ambling slowly towards their respective stags. Jane and Lizzy (the slate and Bourbon girls) make their way down towards Bingley in the far pig house and Gloria and an almost bald Theresa wait patiently just a few feet away. They know I will be shortly moving them into their shelter with Boris, who is still huffing and puffing away in the back ground.

The indian runners stand uncertainly just beyond the turkeys. They are eyeing me nervously and are also waiting for me to direct them into their duckhouse. I am late tonight and they know it............. and I am just that little bit amused that it seems to bother them.

The hens are all gliding their way to their own hen houses in groups of two and three. The buffs swinging their fat bottoms as they walk heavily home. The only birds that don't move home wards are the six ghost hens in the furthest coop. They remain still and silent in a sad looking flat group in the warmth of the sun, yet the very fact they have all taken the chance to leave the safety of the hen house proves to me that at least the natural light and heat they now feel is in fact healing.

The two new foals in the field beyond the stream are galloping around is silly circles together and I can see Albert sitting on top of the Church wall watching them with some interest before he jumps down into the grass and rubs his head against those of William and Meg waking both dogs up.

The guinea fowl totter past and leap the 6 feet to enter the old Graveyard. They chatter noisily when they spy Albert, then move on to sit under their roosting tree, muttering to themselves like grumpy old people 

I take a long measured breath in, as one of the roosters crow

And think to myself 

I am home

Wednesday

It’s Wednesday and I’m having a day at home, some of me wants to go out on another little adventure but needs must, and the cottage looks a wreck.

Yesterday I had Pad Thai noodles and went to see a documentary on the National Museum , but although  it was worthy and at times interesting , the seating at the Storyhouse is so comforting and warm, I spent 60% of the film asleep and grunting and snoring .

I have leaflets to deliver for the TCA, and a flower show meeting to organise too, not that too much has to be organised for the show now, since all the judges are in place and the Choir ( my choir) has agreed to sing. 

It’s the 10th anniversary of the Gwaenysgor Community Choir next week and I’ve been invited to a drinks and nibble do to celebrate which is nice .

Friday I’m going to IKEA with a friend and tomorrow after I see my client , I’m having coffee with a fellow trainee counsellor from my course for chats and debrief

It seemed sensible just to stay home today and potter and clean and make lists.

My own counselling carries on a pace.

I’m sort of in tune with my therapist now and she can challenge me with a look rather than a statement.

This video sums up a little what I’ve explored over the last 8 weeks, a good lesson to learn

 Apologies, it’s not an exciting , interesting post today, I don’t feel particularly exciting or interesting

I could sleep all day

The Queen Anne

 

On spec, my brother in law Tim , sister Ann and I drove to Liverpool, to wave the newest Cunard liner well on her first voyage. Tied up at the Princess Dock , the ship looked huge and beautiful and I was suddenly  hurled back to my childhood where Shelley Winters got stuck in an ornamental Christmas Tree and Stella Stevens just wore panties “ what else do I need?”

Thousands of people turned up to watch the Queen leave port, and we all waved our phone lights as the tugs pulled her out into the pool and the fireworks magically lit up the sky. 

Jota.La Dolores.Orq Metropolitana.Danza: Sara MartínTenor:Miguel Borrall...

Videos are surfacing of the concert I went to a week ago in Madrid, I will post them as and when they

arrive, this was the final piece of the show( before the 5 encore pieces that is ) 

Agrado's Monologue (All about my mother - Almodóvar)

I loved yesterday. The weather was glorious as my friend Ruth and I drove to the PictureHouse to see All About My Mother

The famous 1999 movie by Pedro Almodòvar was on a rerun , presumably to celebrate Pride Month and I hadn’t visited it since the early 2000s when I think I had it on dvd. 

This film, because of its bold signature use of red , should be seen of the big screen. 

It’s a sumptuous looking drama set between Madrid and Barcelona and is a study of motherhood in all of its facets and complications. 

For those that don’t know, I will try to give you a flavour of the piece.

Manuela ( Cecilia Roth) is the loving single mother of 18 year old Esteban, a budding writer and theatre obsessive.On a trip to see aging actress Huma Rojo ( Marissa Paredes) in A StreetCar named Desire , Esteban  is tragically killed, after which Manuela goes of the search for Esteban’s father, who is a trans woman, called Lola, living the low life in Barcelona. 

On her travels, Manuela joins forces with a nun ( Penelope Cruz) made pregnant and HIV+ by Lola, a feisty trans sex worker Agrado ( Antonia San Juan) and Huma who is still appearing in Streetcar’s tour around the country. And the film explores how the quartet  ( and others) deal with issues such as motherhood, acceptance, and forgiveness  we see the lives of the women the piece with Hollywood  references not only to Streetcar but to All About Eve.

It’s showy, funny, loud and at times incredibly moving with great performances all round especially by Sam Juan , whose foul mouthed turn as the whore  who literally doesn’t give a fuck in incredibly brave and touching all at the same time.

This is a women’s film obscured by gay and trans issues, a tribute to Douglas Sirk from the 1950s and it’s glorious in every way.

As we came back out into sun shire we watched people dancing salsa outside the Chester Market which was an absolute joy

Then went for a lovely relaxed but ordered lunch at Hamayuu 

Remembering The Importance Of Gardens

Back to almost normality today. My friend Ruth will be arriving soon and we are off to the cinema, it’s a sunny day and I’m writing this in the garden 

My garden has had praise recently from many of the locals, positives I passed onto Janet when I saw her last night at my birthday meal. 

It’s a sanctuary of peace, not too neat and tidy but ordered in its own way. 

The honeysuckle obscuring the front door, is 

Flowering as the little hazel and oak saplings thrive in their pots ready to

be planted around the village 

Gardens are a haven, and I’m lucky to have one that works for me, and I’m reminded of just how important your own little piece of garden can be to a person

The memory

 Patients with facial tumours can be a challenge to look after . Not only can tumours bleed and bleed badly, but they can cruelly infiltrate soft tissue, and bone snd cartilage  obscuring airways and the ability to see, speak and communicate .

They also mask personality, create shame and allow fear to grow and patients can find themselves hiding away in side rooms and at home, out of sight and out of mind. 

The student I was working with asked for some “advice” with one such patient  and after a moments reflection I told her that we had two vital weapons in our arsenal.

The first was the fact that the patient had the most beautiful blue eyes, 

“Focus on those lovely eyes” I told her, in any procedure , in every wobbly moment , 

Focus on those eyes”

And the second I showed her and the patient together.

It was a gloriously sunny day and I turned off the door alarm in the patient’s bedroom and opened his patio door wide into a private garden filled with agapanthus, roses, rosemary and honeysuckle

“ I can go outside whenever I want “ the patient said quietly, hands stretched into flower beds, their voice suddenly rather emotional and I replied “ of course you can” as the student nurse gave a watery smile as she grew a few years older.

Company

My friend Colin arrived last night clutching a good Prosecco in one hand and some Aporol in the other, a lovely nod to Venice, I thought. We had dinner at The Crown ( again!) and came back to the cottage for drinks and entertainment from Roger who had gotten himself all too giddy with the unexpected company so was racing around doing zoomies, with intermittent stops to lick the skin behind each of Colin’s ears which he suddenly found strangely irresistible.

“Is he always like this?” Colin asked slightly perplexed,

And Roger was off galloping up the stairs again, grinning like an idiot.

“ I’ve no benchmark “ I replied as Roger ran into the toilet and skidded loudly on the Vinyl flooring.

What could have been the toilet brush bounced across the floor.

The behaviour continued until Colin left for home this morning, after which Roger wound down completely like a clockwork toy. Affable despot Jason called around with a card as did Mrs Trellis and Llewella widow of Ralph The gentleman farmer stopped to wish me happy birthday which was sweet  

Chic Eleanor Says Happy Birthday For Tomorrow

 

Chic Eleanor always makes a fuss of me when we meet

Lots of “Oh Darlings“ and big hugs which I love , 

And she never pulls her punches even when inside a venue, where she can be overheard 

She is honest and loving and free with her emotions 

That’s Another thing that I so love about her .

We shared a bloody lovely Scotch Egg starter and talked without taking breath for two hours straight. 

I was once approached on a period train journey  by a fellow traveller who noted that Me and Nu had never stopped talking for hours over dinner and drinks. 

I can always tell best friends  rather than a husband and wife, she said, they talk constantly 

A great way to start my Birthday 

Tired

 God I was tired this morning

Work in a hospice is not all floating nuns and piano melodies on the radio

Many of our patients, for a variety of reasons can be for resuscitation and escalation of their care. Issues that can prove to be a challenge when you are dealing in incredibly poorly people. 

I worked alongside Julie yesterday, a Lancashire nurse a year older than me. 

My the end of the shift we were still laughing but incredibly weary .

I slept in until 11.30 am this morning,

Something I haven’t done for years.

Today is my set counselling day, but my client is on holiday , so luckily I was allowed that lie in . 

I’ve walked the dogs and checked what food I had in so made a mushroom and chicken omelette covered in spinach and Parmesan shavings 

It didn’t look up to much but it tasted bloody lovely.

It’s already 1.30 and I’m surfing and still drinking coffee. 

I’m meeting Chic Eleanor for early doors at the pub and supper. 

Church & Flowers

 The whistle heralded Islwyn’s arrival at the kitchen wall.

Both dogs barked and raced out to say hello

When I walked out he was itching both dogs behind the ears 

They both love Islwyn 

He was wearing his usual yellow safely coat and had been moving my garden waste Janet collects in one of his large plasticised collection bags. As usual he bantered about doing my jobs for me. 

I smiled , used to him, and thanked him for his altruistic work .

We talked for a while and he asked me to blog about the church 

It is exactly 300 years since the Parry family rebuilt the Church in its present form ( without the vestry) and 300 years since they rebuilt my cottage 

I promised I would , and I have, and I promised to acknowledge his request on the village website too.

As we talked , I cut flowers from Janet’s sculptured herbaceous beds , alliums, blue iris , early roses and honeysuckle, 

And put them in a jug some ITU staff gave me as a leaving gift. 

I’m working today, just one day this week, which suites me just fine

All About………Me

 Right, let’s get away from the wonderful Madrid

However I have just left a video and a link of two of the encores 

The link especially will give a proper flavour of the event .

No doubt I will post more as their arise.

It’s my birthday on Saturday, and I’ve planned a few things. For the past 5 years I have made the effort Not to celebrate the day, going to lengths to work, stay in and play the martyr. Some of that stems from the fact that a had lost a bit of myself in my divorce 

Some of it stemmed from the fact that  I couldn’t be arsed.

Whatever the reason

I’ve changed this year. 

On Thursday Chic Eleanor and I am going out for supper. Friday I am meeting up with Colin and Sunday my friend Ruth are catching a rerun of that classic old Spanish ( what else) drama All about My Mother in Chester followed by a Japanese lunch, and on Saturday night I’m meeting my sisters and family for a meal at La Ricetta.

As you can see it’s all about Me !!

Yesterday I went to see the prequel to Mad Max Fury Road , Furiosa  A Mad Max Saga

Violent, action filled and beautifully filmed this movie had the difficult job to fill some very big shoes and although it tried, the original with Charlze Theron and Tom Hardy ( who apparently hated each other) has remained king not only for how the main actors gave it some gravitas and style but also for the fact the movie had a heart in the guise of a mainly female cast filled with old lady warriors

The prequel bored me which was sad. 

Gala de Zarzuela.Orquesta Metropolitana Madrid.Grupo Talia.

I’ve very aware that I’m doing the Madrid thing to death but I will leave you to these two videos

The top one is the first of five encores at the concert

But if you have patience please have a look at this one as this was the final encore and it’s amazing

 https://www.facebook.com/share/r/GE6mpvcBL7MjanHw/

Pants

 

The “inspired” choice of linen trousers proved to be my undoing

Just as I was entering the Museo National Centro de Arte Reina Sofia , I caught my right pant leg on the corner of a door.

Gawd knows just how 

But it ripped up the seam some seven inches or so as deftly as if someone had taken a knife to it 

And so there I was, in one of the most prestigious museums in the world with a pant leg flapping around like a sailors bellbottom.

I continued my tour of the museum looking like a twat

Photos of the Gala

 

Silvia looking emotional on the fifth standing ovation 

This woman needed to be seen to believed

I was in the stalls at the back near the first light 

Homeward

 Im flying Iberian home and upgrated to buisness for peanuts just for the hell of it. I have a slight hangover but its not a deadly one. 

I got talking to Noel last night who is part of a sort of Madrid singles do culture group. He is a retired journalist and spoke english with ease.

He was intrigued at me coming so far to see grupo Talia, but understood once I told him i was divorced. 

He was widowed for 4 years and insisted he bought me a drink. His son would take me to my hotel and an hour later he did just that, weaving in and out of the late night Madrid traffic like a rally driver.

Airports are jolly places

The End Of A Lovely Evening

 

Its been the best night ive had in a long time.

Im miles from my hotel but sod it. The concert has finished after five encours and I followed a group of happy 60 something Spaniards to a local bar where im having a massive Gin.

I havent joined them, ive just shared a lovely concert with them, one that i will have to show you when the videos come out rather than to describe adequetly. 

It was lovely and couldnt have been more Spanish if you given King Filipe a sombrero and a litre of sherry to down

The lisping choir, men in victorian spanish flat caps and women all hands on hips with their shawls, belted out some doosies as dancing flamenco girls with castinets to die for wowed the local audience to such a pitch that they stood and yelled for more.

These were a class act

The whole experience was totally untique,and im not ashamed to say I  cried at the end, and ive cried a little now as I sit on the fringes of a group of chattering Spaniads without a bloody clue what they are saying.

A few days ago Anon on the blog kindly reminded me that im making the best of a bad job. That the experience would have been better with aman on my arm.

I agree wholeheartedly to that oh so not kind comment. But do you know what? 

Im going to have another gin, im going to pluck up courage and chat to the person next to me, and i'll find my way back to the hotel slightly pissed in a wonderfully chic city, and oh so happy that I came in the first place

Buenos noches